


don't let it in (with no intention to keep it)

by a_good_soldier



Category: Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series)
Genre: Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 17:43:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15954344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_good_soldier/pseuds/a_good_soldier
Summary: Andrew missed Steven. Steven, unsurprisingly, also missed Andrew.





	don't let it in (with no intention to keep it)

**Author's Note:**

> i leave for a weekend of folk dancing and i come back to new unsolved, try guys, AND worth it eps? what a blessing. if ur waiting on an update to The Feud i promise it's coming (along with some other fun stuff!). i just had to get this one out because the s5 premiere was so wholesome, i was overwhelmed. title from hozier's "it will come back" which, like all of his songs (ps if you heard his new ep and are in love with it u should tell me bc im also in love with it), is a gorgeous ode to self-effacing pining.
> 
> if u got any questions or concerns feel free to comment or find me on tumblr @agoodsoldier

After they shoot the outro, Andrew pulls Steven into his car. It’s obvious, of course it’s obvious, the whole damn episode was about this one thing and nothing else, but Andrew has to say it anyway: “I missed you.”

Steven smiles a small, pleased, satisfied smile, and says, “I missed you, too. New York is far away.”

“But you like it there?” He knows Steven is satisfied with the direction his career is moving in — knows, too, that Steven wouldn’t have moved if he thought it wasn’t worthwhile — but he has to ask. He has to know that Steven is happy. 

“I’m sad to be so far away from you and— and everyone,” Steven says, and Andrew flushes. He starts the car, the feeling of Steven in the passenger seat rather than the driver’s seat still unnatural, unexpected. “But it’s good. It’s really good.”

“I’m glad.” The road spills by, the setting sun harsh in Andrew’s eyes.

Steven’s staying with his family while he’s back in LA, but Andrew’s already headed in the opposite direction before he remembers. “Ah, shit. I’m supposed to be driving you back to your parents’ place, right?”

“Are we already on the way to your place? I don’t mind, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all.” Andrew thinks about what it’ll be like to have Steven back in his space. Two nights before Steven had left, Andrew had made dinner for him. After years of going on what were essentially company-sponsored dates, it had felt unutterably intimate to have Steven, alone, not a camera in sight, in Andrew’s dining room. He’d pulled out all the stops: pierogi and schnitzel and an easy wheat beer he’d picked just for Steven’s palette. He had even enlisted Rie’s help to figure out dessert, which ended up being a delicate little crème brûlée type thing, with some intricate lacework on top that fucked Andrew up for the better part of three hours.

Which is all to say that it’ll be nice to have Steven over again without the spectre of his imminent move hanging over the night.

Steven is clearly thinking along similar lines, since he asks, “Will you make me dinner again?”

There’s something vulnerable in the way he says it, as though he thinks Andrew might say no, and so Andrew says, “Of course.” Smiling, he adds, “Any requests?”

“Anything. Whatever you want.”

Andrew glances over to see Steven biting his lip, and blinking a little faster than normal. “Oh Jesus, Steven—”

“It’s fine, I’m— don’t—” Steven shakes his head and looks stubbornly out the window.

After a second, Andrew reaches over to turn on the radio. He left it on some mediocre history segment he’d accidentally encountered last time he was in the car, and today the same channel seems to be playing the top hits of America’s interwar pop scene. Christ.

Steven lets out a giggle as an overwrought orchestral swell accompanies some guy singing about a damn hill, and Andrew has to laugh, too. The whole thing — sunset, palm trees, and Glenn Miller — would be a perfect end scene for a 1943 blockbuster, if they weren’t two men in a 2017 Honda.

When the song is over and the host starts announcing the news in a transatlantic accent to put Shane Madej’s best to shame, Steven starts fiddling with the controls. “Should we listen to something from this century?” he asks, pulling out his phone. He doesn’t wait for Andrew’s response, just plugs his phone in and starts playing something Andrew doesn’t recognize.

“This isn’t half bad,” Andrew says. It’s not just a platitude; it’s pop, sure, but it’s _good_ pop. He’s not much of a musician, but he doesn’t find the singer’s voice grating the way most indie singers tend to be (he just doesn’t _get_ the appeal of Halsey, okay?). He tries to pay attention to the lyrics: _if I drink enough I swear that I will wake up next to you_. “Sad, though.”

“It’s King Princess. EP just came out this year, actually.”

“Huh.” Andrew drives into the sunset as King Princess, whoever the fuck that is, accompanies them along the highway.

* * *

They get to Andrew’s house in a short enough time. Too short, almost — Andrew’s nervous about having Steven here, close and in the flesh. He doesn’t really realize he’s nervous until he barks out an over-loud laugh at one of Steven’s half-hearted jokes, almost drops his keys unlocking his door, trips over himself trying to get Steven a drink.

Steven notices. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just—” Andrew sets two glasses down on the counter, and winces as they hit the marble loud and sharp. Nothing breaks, though; small mercies. He stands there for a second, hands still gripping the glasses. “Keyed up from the shoot, I guess.”

He feels exposed like this. He’s usually not the kind of guy who gets worked up about much; he’s not like Adam is onscreen, not quiet and withdrawn to a point of caricature, but he’s content to keep to himself, has a resting calm that is hard to disturb. It feels all too clear that he’s worked up about one thing and one thing alone: Steven, back in LA, back in Andrew’s house. Back in Andrew’s kitchen, which feels maybe even more intimate than if Steven were in his— his bedroom, or something.

Steven doesn’t say anything, and Andrew pulls himself away from the counter to get out a bottle of wine from the cabinet above his fridge. It’s well within reach, but it is over his head, and he has to lean forward a little bit to fully wrap his fingers around the bottle, and so maybe Andrew shouldn’t be as surprised as he is when he feels Steven next to him. “This one, right?” Steven asks, low and quiet. His voice is in Andrew’s ear, and if Andrew turned to his left, they’d be face to face, almost nose to nose.

Andrew takes a step back and says, “Yeah, thanks.” He takes the bottle from Steven and busies himself with pouring a generous serving into each glass. When he gives Steven his glass, Andrew is too caught up in his own mooning to really feel it when his fingertips brush against Steven’s, but the warmth doesn’t leave him until he picks up his own drink.

“Should we toast?” Steven asks.

“Yes! To— to your return, I guess.” Andrew grins. “To Worth It season 5?”

Steven smiles back, and something is there in his face, something soft and open, as he says, “To coming back to good friends.”

Andrew’s breath catches in his throat, and he manages to say, “I’ll— I’ll drink to that,” as he lets his glass clink gently against Steven’s.

Then the work of making actual food begins. Andrew opens his fridge, and calls Steven over to have a look. “See anything you like?” Andrew asks.

“Could make pasta,” Steven says, pulling out cream and vegetables and the leftover chicken Andrew has in a Tupperware. “Can’t really go wrong there.”

“No, you can’t. Let’s do it.” Andrew has to stop for a second, taking in Steven putting around Andrew’s kitchen like it’s his own. They’ve always been friends brought together by food — it’s hard not to become close when you’re sharing a good meal, and God knows they’ve had enough of them over their time — but this feels like something more. It feels like the natural evolution of their friendship; to not only be laughing over a gorgeous plate of food together, but to create something with each other. They know each other well enough to remember each other’s tastes, the herbs they don’t like and the amount of salt to put in.

“Need help?” Andrew asks finally, and Steven puts down the mushroom he was about to chop. 

“Ah. I—” He blushes, and laughs. “Geez, I’m sorry, I just totally steamrolled around your kitchen.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s great.” Andrew pulls out another cutting board and starts in on a bell pepper. “Thanks for making a decision. It’s good to know we’re for sure making something you’ll like.”

Steven grimaces. “I’m starting to feel like a prodigal son. You don’t have to make me feel— special, for coming back. I would’ve come back anyway.”

“No, that’s—” Andrew grips Steven by the elbow. “Hey. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I just— I really did miss you. That’s all.”

Steven scratches the back of his neck. “Okay. Sorry I made it weird.”

“You didn’t make it weird,” Andrew states firmly. The veggies are chopped, and Andrew puts on a pot of water to boil for the pasta. As they wait for the water to boil, Andrew edges closer to Steven, who doesn’t seem to mind very much.

He hasn’t thought a lot about Steven in anything beyond a platonic lens, mostly, but it’s hard to deny that he’s an attractive man. Fun, too, sunshine in concentrated form, and brilliant in about every capacity. Andrew had placed him firmly in the “unattainable” category of his mind once they started to really become friends, and that seemed to be that. All the same, there’s something about the energy of a warm twilight in the same kitchen where Andrew had seen Steven off a few months ago — where he had consciously blinked back tears at the idea of Steven on the other side of the country for the indefinite future — that brings to light all the feelings Andrew thought he’d stamped out for good.

“Hey,” Steven starts, eyes fixed to the counter where their hands are inches apart. He swallows, and Andrew can’t help but track the movement of his throat.

“Yeah?” he prompts when Steven doesn’t continue.

Steven shrugs, and takes a sip of his wine. They should be figuring out what to do with the chicken, or making sure the water doesn’t boil over, but Andrew has set roots in, committed to knowing what Steven is thinking, feeling. “I missed you a lot,” Steven says eventually, voice choking on the word _lot_ , something wet and fragile.

“Steven—” Andrew pulls him into a hug. “Jeez, Steven.”

“Shut up,” Steven says, muffled into Andrew’s shoulder and maybe, also, a little muffled from something that could be tears. Andrew holds him closer, hands on Steven’s back and right leg almost between Steven’s thighs.

Finally, Steven pulls back, and Andrew lets him go. He watches as Steven scrubs a hand across his eyes. “Sorry,” he says again, “I’m, maybe it’s—”

“Don’t apologize.” Andrew reaches for his elbow again, fingers curling around Steven’s tricep, other hand resting easy by his side so Steven doesn’t feel trapped. He cracks a grin. “After all, who wouldn’t miss me?”

Steven laughs, and Andrew pulls back to— to something, to give Steven space, maybe, but Steven steps in closer. “I’ve kinda been working up to something else, actually,” Steven says, and he sounds more like himself, so Andrew doesn’t even think to be apprehensive.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I—” Steven puts his hands on Andrew’s waist, and says, eyes flicking down to Andrew’s mouth for one breathless second, “If you— If you think you might want—”

“Oh.” It only takes a moment for Andrew to decide; all the feelings he thought he didn’t have bubble up to the surface, and it would take a fool to say no. Andrew runs his hands up Steven’s forearms, his shoulders, and says, as though it’s nothing, “Yeah. Definitely.”

“Great,” Steven says a little hoarsely, and he leans down, and Andrew meets him in the middle for their first kiss. He hates to say that sparks fly, but it really feels — he is overwhelmed, all at once, by the weight of Steven’s body against his, the shifting muscles under his hand, his soft lips and his fingertips pressing into Andrew’s waist.

He feels Steven smile against his mouth, and Andrew grins in response. He pulls back to catch his breath. “Nice,” he says, nonsensically, and then presses another kiss to Steven’s mouth, and another, and sets his right hand against Steven’s cheek, the heel of his palm settling in against Steven’s jawline.

Steven pulls back from the kiss, but doesn’t pull away otherwise. “I should’ve done this last time I was here,” he says softly, and Andrew freezes.

“You—” He swallows. He tries to imagine what the past few months would have been like, if he’d had this to remember, a kiss to swear by two nights before Steven left for fucking New York. How troubling it would have been, to be here in California, on the west coast that had only just become his home, with Steven escaping to the northeast, back to the winter and the lakes and the urgency of great northern cities that Andrew had left behind. Quietly, he admits, “I would’ve missed you more, I think.”

“Should I not have said that?” Steven starts to untangle himself from Andrew, limbs against limbs.

“No, that’s not— I just—” Andrew shakes his head. He doesn’t know what he means. He pulls Steven back into his orbit, and kisses him again, for good measure. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad we’re doing this.”

“Okay.” Steven kisses him again, and then jumps back when the stove hisses behind him. “Oh shit—”

“The water,” Andrew says, in a sort of stunned monotone, before he laughs. “Oh Jesus, we forgot the water. We’re cooking here, Steven! Stop distracting me!”

Steven turns around, a grin bright on his face as he wipes up the water that’s spilled around the pot and dumps the pasta in the boiling water. “If I recall correctly, you were just as distracting as me.”

“Well, maybe.” Andrew kisses Steven’s cheek, and continues, “Should we have a moratorium on kisses while we’re cooking?”

“All right. Well, after this one.” Then Steven sneaks in a quick peck, somehow all the more intimate for how casual it is, how quickly it’s over, how assured Steven seems to be in his welcome. Andrew is suddenly alarmingly invested in this new thing between them, and so he presses another kiss to Steven’s mouth, to quell the feeling rising in him, something giddy and nervous and happy all together.

“Oops,” he says cheekily, and pulls away from Steven to focus on the meal they’re supposed to be making.

Steven says, chuckling, “I’ll let it slide this time.” Andrew takes a tiny sliver of mushroom from the cutting board and flicks it at him, because that seems like the thing to do, and Steven laughs raucously.

Andrew thinks he might actually lose it if Steven goes back to New York permanently after the season’s done, but right now, he’s high off this new leap they’ve taken, the feeling of Steven’s skin under his hands soothing and electrifying in equal measure. The night’s not even over yet; they have pasta to cook and then eat and then, really, anything could happen.  It’s hard to feel anything other than joyful under the shitty ceiling lamp in Andrew’s kitchen, with Steven bumping Andrew’s shoulder with his own or setting his hand on Andrew’s back at every opportunity.

Andrew missed Steven, and now he’s here. There’s not much else he could ask for.


End file.
